


Colour My Soul and Paint It Black

by izzy1098



Category: Big Bang (Band), GTOP (Band)
Genre: Depressive Episode, Fluff and Angst, M/M, dont ask me how, paint, sentient canvas, seunghyun is positively correlated with food
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:07:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 5,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25045861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/izzy1098/pseuds/izzy1098
Summary: Sanity and sentience are overrated.
Relationships: Choi Seunghyun | T.O.P./Kwon Jiyong | G-Dragon
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	1. Faded on a Thread

It was the sounds he heard first. The hum of light early morning traffic outside, the previous night’s playlist still playing softly over the speakers, and the incessant ringing of his phone. Raising his eyebrows to try to pry his eyelids open, he reached over to the bedside table to grab his spectacles to put them on as he stumbled out of bed. Eyes finally semi-open, he pulled back the sheets to figure out where he had stuffed his mobile. Three overturned pillows later, he found it just as it stopped ringing.

“Aish-” he flopped back down on the bed and dialled, grumbling at the ceiling when the call went unanswered. “What is this, some sort of revenge?”

He sat up again and swiped at the phone to type off a text when it vibrated.

_“Are you up?”_

“Yes hyung.”

_“Cool. Open the door for me? This is a little too heavy.”_

“What?”

_“The door, Ji. I’ve been standing outside for the past twenty minutes.”_

Jiyong cursed under his breath and fumbled out of his bed, barely managing to keep his feet from tangling in the sheets. Almost sliding to the door in his hurry, he opened it to the sight of Seunghyun standing on the other side with a large rectangular package covered in brown paper.

  
“Finally.” The older man shoved the package into Jiyong’s hands and more or less shoved him back into the flat. Jiyong stumbled a little but caught his footing and lightly rested it against the floor. “You know you could have kept it down?” he shook his head at the sight of Seunghyun crashing onto the sofa.

“What is it anyway? Hyung, did you buy me a painting?” That earned a scoff. “As if. You have no appreciation for real art anyway.”

Jiyong glared in response, “Us having different tastes doesn’t mean that mine is bad. Also, it’s 6 am. I just woke up, you’ve probably not slept, and I haven’t had any sugar yet.” He sat on the floor, sliding the package to lay it down carefully. He tugged at the twine around it, and pulled it apart, to gently uncover whatever Seunghyun had decided to grace him with.

Properly unpacked, he stared at the reason for being woken up. And stared some more.

“What do you think?” Seunghyun had shifted from the sofa to crouch behind him.

“It’s blank.”

“Yes!”

“And you hailed a cab to here to give me a blank canvas, why?” Jiyong closed his eyes and tilted his head back in frustration.

Seunghyun’s grin fell. “I thought that it might make you paint again.”

Jiyong rubbed his face tiredly. “It’s been ages. I don’t even know if I can anymore. And why did it have to be so early?”

“…I’m sorry. Like you said, I hadn’t slept and it seemed like a good idea…” He moved to wrap it back but the younger man stilled his hand with a light touch.

“Stop.” He sighed. “Let it be. I’ll see what I’ll do with it.” And the grin came back. “Yay!”

“No promises, hyung. You know I haven’t created anything in a long while.”

Seunghyun brushed it off, “Yeah that’s okay.”

Stifling a yawn, Jiyong stood and pulled the other man up too. “Now go fix us breakfast, in exchange for ruining my sleep.”

“Yeah yeah. Go brush your teeth.”

Shoving the elder in the direction of the kitchen, Jiyong went freshen up, switching into higher gear when memories of the other man’s cooking assaulted him. He definitely did not want to have burnt toast with a too-hard-boiled egg.

Finishing up quickly, he rushed back to the sight of Seunghyun sitting at the island with two steaming mugs in front of him. He looked up when he heard footsteps, and smiled. “Coffee? Thought I shouldn’t try to poison you after disturbing your sleep.”

Jiyong grinned and turned to the refrigerator to figure out their breakfast.

A panicked search for oil and another few minutes later, a plate of omurice sat between them. It was quiet then, except for the still playing music, and the clink of their cutlery. After a minor fight for the last bite, they cleaned up and then went back to the living room.

Jiyong settled comfortably on the rug while Seunghyun sat on the couch behind him. He couldn’t quite remember when he had last had breakfast this early, or had spent more than ten minutes with Seunghyun in the last year. He leaned back to rest against the furniture, and closed his eyes when he felt fingers lightly run through his hair. “I like the shade.” The older man murmured. “It suits you.”

“Thanks, hyung. The hairdresser was a little sceptical about violet, but I managed to convince her.”

“Hmm… It looks good.”

Jiyong pushed lightly against the hand that now rested on his head. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too, Ji.” It was barely more than a whisper.

The playlist finally coming to an end, silence permeated the flat. A comforting blanket that lay over the two friends as they lay and sat together. Seunghyun’s left hand playing with Jiyong’s hair, while his right arm crossed his chest to lightly clasp the other’s over the younger man’s shoulder. Simultaneous sighs broke the stillness as they both looked at the blank canvas that was staring back at them from the floor.


	2. Just You and I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The canvas liked to pretend that it was sentient.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise this is not going to be a Ji/canvas  
> ...can't believe that's a disclaimer I have to explicitly write.

Week after week, the canvas glared at Jiyong from whichever place he had relocated it to. On that particular day, it had been watching him from the slightly opened door of his spare bedroom while he screamed along to the lyrics as the speakers blared loud enough to down his voice.

Dancing around in an almost frenzied state with his eyes closed, it was inevitable that he hit something, unfortunately it was the door in front of his new stressor that his hand smacked against. Jiyong looked at the offending expanse of wood. “Really, door?”

The canvas would have giggled to itself, had it not been an inanimate object. In the past month in which it had been relocated over and over again, it had seen Jiyong talking to anything and everything, ranging from the furniture to the cutlery, even the appliances had been coaxed into working properly with a few cajoling words. This, along with the almost always playing music, were the only things that appeared to make him use his voice. The canvas would have pitied him, if it were sentient. Its owner, who chose to deliberately ignore it and keep it out of his sight, only used his voice to sing along or talk to things that didn’t, couldn’t, talk back. He never went out, or at least, he had not gone out for the thirty days since the canvas had been brought to him. It felt as if he were haunting the house, one with the building, and with everything in it, but removed to the possible extent from the outside world. The phone, it rang, the canvas had had a few sounds waves bounced off of it, but Jiyong rarely picked it up. Apparently, the day that it had been brought here had-

‘Here we go again’, it would have thought, when it was lifted up again, with a few grumbles that it couldn’t quite catch. The man who had been meant to bring it to life looked as if he could use some help living too. The vibrant purple hair from the first day the canvas’ bare surface had stared back at him had faded while the original brown tried to reclaim its place by growing long enough to be tied up.

The canvas was carefully laid on the kitchen island. That was one thing it was grateful about (or would have been, if it were living). No matter how much Jiyong seemed to hate looking at it, he was always cautious when relocating it. That could have been because of whom it was given by, but of course it would have seen it as something due to its own traits. But, back to the kitchen island. This was the first time the canvas had been kept in a place so easily seen. After a month of being ignored, being under the bright light was new.

Since it was facing the ceiling, it could no longer watch Jiyong’s actions, but the music cut off suddenly and, in the silence, it was easy to hear the ring of an outgoing call.

_“Ji? What’s wrong? Are you okay?”_

“Yes hyung,” Jiyong coughed, probably because of all the screaming/singing from earlier.

_“Are you sick? Do you need medicines?”_

“No, no, I am okay. Just a scratchy throat. Umm… I was wondering, are you free later?”

_“Depends on what you categorize as ‘later’. I have a meeting at seven, but I should be free around 10, that okay?”_

“Yeah okay. Bring me a box from wherever you’re eating.”

Amusement coloured Seunghyun’s voice. _“Alright.”_

“Thanks.”

_“Mind telling me what this is about, or should I spend the entire evening wondering?”_

Jiyong huffed out a laugh, “That sounds tempting.”

_“Okay, I won’t get you chicken from So Yi’s.”_

“Not fair!”

_“Is so. Also, I’m being called away, so I gotta go now.”_

“Okay, okay, I’ll see you later. I’m planning to paint.”

_“Cool, bye. Wait wha-?”_

Jiyong disconnected the call and leaned over the edge of the canvas, grinning. “Let’s see what we can do with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suggestions for Seunghyun's profession?  
> Oh and I'll be trying to limit the chapter titles to the lyrics of Stephen's Play Me Like a Violin


	3. Oxygen We Can Breathe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He didn't love the painting.

The softness of the paint gave way to the rough surface of the canvas as Jiyong tried to make sure that there were no white spaces left. Blue and red in a variety of shades and tints were smeared across it, the edges mingling with the thin coating of oil that covered the previously blank expanse. With dimensions of about twelve square feet, it was in no way a small project. But finally, finally Jiyong had found in himself, a small part that wanted to feel what it was like to feel the paint under his fingertips, the colours mixing into multitudes of hues that he couldn’t name, the image slowly appearing as he worked stroke by stroke, with fingers, brushes, Q-tips, and whatever else caught his fancy at that moment.

And so, he painted. Going around the island on which the canvas lay, to reach it all. Sure, he could have put it up on an easel, but not on that day. He was in the mood to let the paint do the thinking, and for him, that meant a horizontally placed canvas, not a vertical one. Deep blue filled the upper length, with streaks of violet and purple running through it. The lower half was reddish in contrast, whispers of orange and yellow floating over it. Jiyong supposed it looked like the dawn. Or dusk. He wasn’t sure. There was no sun, just the sky, for now.

“What would you like to be?” he asked the yet unfinished work. To no one’s surprise, there was no answer. Still, Jiyong looked disappointed. He stepped back to look at it, or glare it into answering, and the doorbell rang. Scrubbing the paint from his fingers on one of his old towels, he opened the door.

“Did you start already?” Seunghyun nodded at his hands while nudging off his shoes.

“Yeah, I’ve been at it since…six? I suppose.” As if the other man’s presence had finally made him aware of the passage of time, Jiyong suddenly felt the ache in his arms and shoulder and lower back and the soles of his feet.

Seunghyun looked at his watch, the plastic bag with the takeaway box swinging lightly at the movement. “You’ve been working for the last four and a half hours, Ji.”

“…Right.” For some reason Jiyong felt small. As if he _should_ have noticed how long it had been, despite the fact that he hadn’t replaced the batteries of his clocks since God-knows-when, and his phone was also who-knows-where. All he needed were the songs that played, to have a tempo to paint along with, and sips of water in between. But still, the only way he was allowed by his friends and family to be so disconnected from everyone, was with the promise of taking care of himself. How could he not have-

A hand ruffling his hair brought him back. “Go, wash your hands properly. I’ll heat this up for you.”

“No!” Jiyong pulled back.

The older man flinched for a fraction of a second before schooling his expression. “Okay.”

Jiyong shook his head, “No… I mean, I was working there… I’ll take you.”

“Oh, alright.” He smiled, then grinned. “Let’s go!”

The food was snatched from his hand, fingers took its place instead and tugged.

However, as soon as they entered the kitchen, the fingers twitched away, and hands pushed Seunghyun towards the island. “Oi! No paint near this suit! I just got it cleaned last week.”  
  


“Sure, sure. Go look.”

Jiyong had often wondered if his phone was sentient, or if it was something about Seunghyun that did something to it. Just as Seunghyun took a step, the music that had been playing since he woke up, or even before then, came to an end, and the silence made the approach feel like a scene out of a drama.

He kept the food on the counter and watched as the older man looked at the painting. And kept on looking.

With every passing second, Jiyong was losing his excitement and apprehension was sneaking back in. “What’s wrong? Did I mess up? I knew I should have added a little more orange, it didn’t mix right, right? Or is it the purple?”

“No.” Seunghyun’s voice was barely above a whisper. “No Ji, it’s perfect. You did everything right. The colours, the blending, everything.”

“Are you sure? You aren’t just pulling my leg, are you? I know I haven’t painted in a long while so I wasn’t expecting anything much anyway, but you aren’t saying this to later tell me how awful it actually is, right? There’s no way it-” His rambling was muffled with fabric as he found himself caught in a hug.

He struggled to free his face, “Did you drink, hyung?”

Seunghyun’s arms tightened around him. “No, I didn’t drink. I’m happy.”

“Okay, well, let go of me because I’m kinda struggling to breathe here.”

“Nope.”

“Do you _want_ me to ruin your suit with oil paint?”

Seunghyun jumped back and Jiyong cocked an eyebrow at his expression.

“Sometimes I think that I should keep some of your formal clothes hostage. It’s a good way to make you do what I want.”

“You’d have to come over for that.”

“Or you could stay over and I’ll keep this one.” _Oh no. What. Why. Shut up. Why did you do that. Why did you have to do that. What have you done. What’s wrong with you. Shut up. Make an excuse. Or maybe he didn’t hear. Oh who am I kidding, of course he heard. Stupid. Fucking. Idiot. Why. Why. Wh-_

“Sure.”

“No that’s alright-” Jiyong began, “Wait what?”

Seunghyun laughed, shaking his head, “I said, sure. I’ll stay the night. I love the painting and I want to look at it for a while more, and I don’t really feel like sitting in a car for the ride back home. And I haven’t seen you in a month, so I’d rather stay longer.”

“Oh.”

“Go clean up and come to the living room. I’ll set up the food.”

Jiyong’s lips parted to respond but no words came out. He nodded instead and shuffled out of the kitchen, glancing back multiple times to see Seunghyun gesturing at him to leave.

It wasn’t until he was standing under the warmth of the shower that he managed to speak. “He loves it.”

And Jiyong smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I'm done with this for now. Or maybe not. I'm not sure. Sorry if they were out of character, I was leaning on the familiarity of the names to help me get back to writing.   
> Anyway, thanks for reading!


	4. I Wanna Feel Alive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where can a canvas file a complaint?

It was another one of those days on which the canvas liked to believe that it was sentient.

This day’s pretending had brought with it the realization that it wasn’t hidden away any longer. Hung up at the end of the corridor with focus lights turned towards it, the canvas felt quite happy and content in its existence. And it wasn’t alone either! One of the walls of the passage was covered in canvases of all sizes, and the other was covered with photographs. It looked as if Jiyong had finally gotten around to stepping out, and meeting friends, if the evidence was to be believed. The vivid colours of the paintings were a sharp contrast to the monochrome of the photographs, but somehow it all seemed to fit. However, if someone were to ask the canvas’ opinion, it would have said that maybe they could try mixing up the two, but of course no one had asked it.

In any case, it was happy. More so because even though from its vantage point it couldn’t see Jiyong in any of the rooms, the front door was at the other end of the corridor, and it could see him leaving, all dressed up prettily, or dashingly, depending on his mood for the day, and then watch him come back, almost always all smiles, despite the outfit looking a little tired from the day.

One thing the canvas had yet to make up its mind about was all the times someone else walked in the door. Okay fine, it didn’t have a problem with everyone, just one Choi Seunghyun.

The reason it couldn’t quite figure out whether it liked him visiting or not was because oftentimes when Seunghyun visited, he took care to spare at least five minutes or so to simply look at the canvas at the end of the corridor. It was enough to make anyone self-conscious, even if this were an inanimate painting! He looked, and looked, and sometimes reached out to trace the little trees that Jiyong had added later, or the wires running across the middle. He would probably have tried to reach the stars too, but they were a little too high for him.

But, even though the canvas liked and hated his attention all the same, it seemed as if Jiyong thought the same. “Hyuuuuung! Are you looking at the painting again? I swear I’ll take it down if you don’t get back here. The food’s getting cold. Again.”

Seunghyun smiled and called back, “Sure, take it down. I’ll take it with me. And then I won’t come around anymore because I’ll already have it at home!”

The canvas was properly horrified at this. No matter how much Jiyong confused it at times with his antics, it still loved how the flat seemed to come alive the moment he stepped in. The lights, the music, him dancing around (or swaying, or running, depending on the time of day), talking to everything and nothing, even if they didn’t reply. The canvas really didn’t want to leave and was about to try its best to file a complaint – to whom, it wasn’t sure yet – and then it heard Jiyong speak from the kitchen.

“Is that your way of asking me to move in? Because it’s you who’ll shift. No way I’m leaving this view.”

Seunghyun laughed, all dimples and closed eyes, and turned away from the canvas, “Right.”

He obviously did not, could not, hear the faked sentience of the canvas yelling after him, asking who would go where, and if it could still have its view of the front door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I suppose this was the epilogue? Or not... I'm not ready to leave them yet  
> Then again, I still have no clue what either of their professions are, so I doubt it would be anything beyond fluffy domesticity.  
> Ah well, might add some chapters randomly, but I'll make sure to not leave any cliffhangers :)  
> Thank you for reading!
> 
> edit: Wait. The title doesn't suit yet. Gah. Guess i'll have to write more now.


	5. The Places We Can't Get Away From

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guilt is a horrible emotion to deal with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's short, too short. Sorry

He padded out of the room as quietly as he could and closed the door behind him after checking that Jiyong hadn’t stirred from his sleep.

He poured himself a glass of water in the kitchen and found himself standing where he always ended up – at the end of the corridor, with his back to the front door, facing the painting that had brought Jiyong back to life. Before the drama on canvas of the blues and reds had unfolded, the younger man looked as if he had paused. As if he was stuck in a limbo, or rather, in a Groundhog Day. Going through the motions from one day to the next. He did what he had to, nothing more, nothing less, like a clockwork toy, carrying out predetermined actions etched into the gears by its maker.

It was painful to watch especially because Seunghyun knew from experience, that no matter what he, or anyone else did, things wouldn’t be better until they just were. And no one, not even Jiyong himself, could say when that would be.

For Seunghyun, that painting, although mediocre by most standards, was the most beautiful thing in that flat, second only to its sleeping artist. It represented so much more than just the sky. It was a sign of the return of purpose, of will, and also, the signature near the bottom right marked the day Jiyong had asked him out.

But today… Today, after a solid seven weeks filled with an almost never ending stream of sketches, and paintings, and photographs, and poems written on random pieces of paper (Seunghyun had twelve receipts covered with verses squirreled away in his laptop bag), there had been a palpable change right after dinner.

In hindsight, Seunghyun reflected, he should have seen it coming. Too many times he had been witness to Jiyong’s liveliness crashing out of nowhere. But as always, he had gotten caught up in the happiness, in the absolute joy that Jiyong found in anything and everything, and in his laughter, in his curiosity, and his hugs, and this time, his careful kisses, and the carefree ones as well. It hadn’t been that hard to believe that maybe, maybe this time it would last. But it hadn’t. And standing there in front of the canvas, Seunghyun blamed himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huh.  
> They don't listen to me at all.  
> Anyway, now that this is a little open-ended, I can't accurately predict how much more I'll write.  
> Sorry if they're out of character, all of this is basically my internal monologue, which obviously has multiple voices. And I suppose I'm trying to keep myself out of sinking back by trying to put my words into fictional characters' mouths.  
> Thank you for reading, I'll see you soon, probably.


	6. 'Til the Sun Rises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The canvas learnt what wishing felt like

The next time it decided to have _thoughts_ and other hominal flaws like _feelings_ , the canvas was disappointed to find itself alone again. All the other paintings and photographs and the more recently put up rice lights had all been taken down, and the corridor’s walls were devoid of any embellishments.

It concluded that this was the perfect time to play at being _sad_ and _frustrated._ It wasn’t that hard, all it had to do was to watch Jiyong return to his mechanical state. For some reason, the canvas found itself wishing that there was less of red on it, and more purposeless strokes, with more force behind them. Perhaps smeared across, rather than carefully rubbed in. Or scratched through with something sharp, a fork maybe. But then what it wished for didn’t really make much of a difference. It had been too long since Jiyong had added a detail to it.

As if summoned by the hoaxed sentience, Jiyong stepped out of his bedroom. The canvas realized (with as much surprise as a stretched sheet of treated cloth could manage) that the footsteps were audible. There was no music playing.

His hair looked as if it had been tugged at, or pulled, and otherwise deprived of any ministrations of a comb for a questionable amount of time. The canvas decided that the fact that Jiyong wore a tee-shirt that it had often seen on Seunghyun would have been described as sweet by humans but then it looked awfully crumpled and even for a canvas which had been pretending to wish for more visible chaos on its surface, that looked wrong. And there was no music playing.

Jiyong looked at it then, and the canvas would’ve squirmed at the sudden attention, if it could. Or looked away, if it could. But since it wasn’t really living, and was mostly two-dimensional (the frame didn’t count) and immobile, it had no way to escape (were it actually capable of thinking and wanting it) and had to bear the sight of Jiyong’s closed off face, momentarily marred by an uncontrolled flinch. Then he turned away and slowly trudged away, abruptly sitting down on the floor with a _thud_ loud enough to sound like a fall. It sounded too loud in the silence. The canvas would have grimaced, or reached out, or called for help, if it could. But Jiyong sat on the floor. Seunghyun wouldn’t be back for hours. And there was no music playing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was hard.


	7. Over Our Heads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tuesday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll try my best to write more next time

Some days it almost felt as if his Ji was back. And then Seunghyun berated himself for thinking that way. He loved him anyway. Always. No matter in what headspace, or emotional state Jiyong was in, he loved him but it hurt to see him look so lost.

Somehow this time had been worse than the other times. He watched as Jiyong lay awake longer, paced around the island pointlessly, and clutched at fabric as if willing himself not to tear it apart. He watched, and stayed. Not hovering, but within reach at all times, if ever needed. 

And then… And then on a Tuesday, as unassuming a day as any other week day, when Seunghyun’s alarm rang, he felt the other man move behind him and as an arm sneaked around his waist, he felt a kiss to his back. And Seunghyun smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't a chapter, barely even a drabble, but tbh, although I have lived through depressive episodes multiple times, I don't know what one looks like from another person's perspective, and I didn't want to fuck it up. And sure I could have written more about Ji and all that Seunghyun did for him, and I did try, but trying to get into that headspace to get it right messed with me, so I stepped back. 
> 
> But yeah, for me, no matter how long the low mood lasts, it's always sudden in its coming and going. There's rarely any trigger, or any particular act/person/situation that makes it magically go away. So that's what I tried to show through the past three 'chapters'.
> 
> As always, I'm simply borrowing the names for a sense of familiarity and comfort, while I work through my own emotions.


	8. I'll Let You Play Me for a While

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was nice to be touched again.

The next time the canvas deigned to feign sentience, it wasn’t entirely by its choice. This had it wondering (as much as something with multiple layers of paint could), if it truly was simply pretending to have thoughts, or if it actually _could_ think. A nudge near its top brought it back (if its thoughts even had wandered) to what had made it aware again (or what had made it want to suppose again). Oh. This was all too confusing for a bit of canvas, even one as large as this was. It decided to stick to the belief that it was pretending to think and see and know and have an opinion.

What had brought it out from its non-conscious state had been the slight push of the tip of a brush, adding stars to the multi-hued sky that covered the canvas. One poke and then another. As if no one had told Jiyong that he didn’t have to individually paint each little dot.

The canvas suddenly realized (with as much realization as it could manage), how extraordinary the thought of Jiyong near it was. If it hadn’t been so well tacked to the frame, the canvas would have tried its best to give him a hug, to hell with technicalities of ‘life’. However, since it couldn’t do that, it told itself that it was _content_ and _happy_ and _excited_ , just like the green-haired man in front of him. So, it declared to itself that it was sitting back, and letting the magic unfold, and busied itself in cataloguing the photographs and paintings that once again lined the walls in front of him.

Almost immediately it told itself that it was _noticing_ a _change_. The walls were no longer divided into all monochrome and all colour, although that was an aesthetic that had grown on it. Ha! The only thing growing on it were the details and layers of paint that Jiyong periodically added. Oh look. That was a _joke._ It was _funny_ now. Anyway, back to the photographs. It appeared as if its advice (alright, Seunghyun’s advice) to mix the two had been heeded. And instead of the rice lights, twine hung crisscrossed across the ceiling, with what looked like swing tags threaded through it.

The canvas decided that all its efforts to convince itself of its creator’s sanity had been in vain. But that was okay. A thread of it, one that ran near its middle, believed that sanity was overrated, especially because none of the other threads could aptly define what it actually meant.

“Tabi!” Jiyong called, as he turned away from the canvas, much to its annoyance. It had been a long time since it had been looked at by him, and he still chose to look away? The blasphemy! The disrespect! And who was _Tabi_ anyway?

Perhaps it had been the maleficence of the canvas’ not-thoughts, or maybe just his clumsiness, all it saw was suddenly flailing arms as Jiyong stumbled from the stool he had chosen to stand on to reach the upper parts of the painting.

The canvas prepared itself to not-react to what looked like an imminent disaster, when Jiyong was righted up again. It did not understand (and figured that this is what _confused_ meant), and was about to file a complaint against gravity’s blatant bias, when it saw hands resting on the waist of the almost-hurt man and then _Seunghyun_ peeked out at it from behind Jiyong.

  
 _Of course_. It rolled its figurative eyes, when all it managed was to blow off a few dust specks (Or maybe that was the air-conditioning, but the canvas was great at pretending anyway).

“Careful there.”

Jiyong grinned, “Thanks Tabi.” He twisted to drop a kiss to his saviour’s head.

The canvas found itself revisiting the meaning of ‘confused’ because when did ‘Seunghyun’ change to ‘Tabi’? Or was this someone else and the layers of paint made it worse to play-act at seeing?

Either way, Jiyong held a brush, and arms to hold him upright, and the painting was getting more details, and the walls hummed as the song’s sound waves bounced off of them. All was alright.

Except the question of how much pretending was real pretending and how much pretending was really real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this wraps it up.  
> The chapter titles were all taken from Play Me Like a Violin by Stephen (go listen to it!)  
> Thank you for reading :)
> 
> (btw, the canvas wants to know the answer to its question, so tell it what you think about its thinking in the comments!)


	9. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mundanity of Saturday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a mess, but I had to. They weren't letting me study till I typed this up. Sorry about whatever errors there might be.

For the rest of the world it was an ordinary day, or as ordinary as a Saturday could be, with its mere existence full of promises. Work wrapped up till Monday, and the reassurance of another day to rest before being swallowed up by professional life, Saturday was the best day of the week, with all its unfulfilled potential of being as ordinary or extraordinary as it wanted, as far as the flat’s two occupants were concerned.

For Seunghyun, humming along to the music as he stirred his coffee, it was a wonderful day in its mundanity, and he had already described his plans to stay home and do nothing. Except maybe make additions to the forever evolving painting at the end of the corridor. It had come a long way from its original vagueness. That did not mean that it was any easier to decipher what it was meant to depict, because over time a large number of big and small details had been added to it, owing to the moods of the two men. It was their way of chronicling their life together, and made for easy retelling of incidents and events as they had happened over the past three years.

For Jiyong, standing in front of the dresser for the seventh time that morning, it was as far from an ordinary Saturday as it could be. He rubbed his face as frustration pulled another loud sigh from him. “It’s alright, he doesn’t hate me.” Because of course despite the amount of times Jiyong had driven Seunghyun to exasperation and annoyance, all of it came from a place of care. He _knew_ that. _But what if… Ah. Damn it all to hell._ He stood up and left the room, still not having opened the drawer he knew he needed to. Wanted to. But couldn’t. One more day wouldn't hurt, he had been scared of it for six whole months now.

He found Seunghyun sitting on the rug in the living room, nodding along to the song, cradling a mug in his hands. Jiyong sat next to him but then shifted to rest his head on the cushion on Seunghyun’s lap. He looked down and smiled at the same time as Jiyong’s eyes widened at the sight of his hands. Seunghyun kept the mug to a side and knocked against Jiyong’s forehead with his knuckles, laughing as his hand was grabbed.

“Wha- How-?”

“You really think I wouldn’t go snooping around if you suddenly became protective of the one space I have least use of? Such a smart idiot of a _fiancé_ I have.”

Jiyong glared at him before shifting his grip to a gentler grasp. He placed a light kiss to Seunghyun’s wrist before biting hard and rolling away to dodge the reactionary smack.

“Ouch! What the fuck?”

He stuck his tongue out at Seunghyun, “That’s what you get for ruining my plans.”

And got a cushion to his face. “What plans? I wouldn’t have gotten the ring for another three months. And I quite like platinum, thank you very much.”

Jiyong stared at him.

“Oh, come on! Dami likes me better, you know tha-.” The cushion came flying back, followed by a blur that brought with itself a near-rib-cracking hug and a contrastingly gentle kiss. And Seunghyun smiled against Jiyong’s lips, burying his ring adorned hand in the currently pale blue hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise to make no more additions to this.

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly, I have no idea where this is coming from, or where it will go. I wanted to write again, so here I am.  
> I haven't the faintest idea when I'll update, but here's to sustained motivation


End file.
